


by claw and by fang (or by the gun)

by Marianne_Dashwood



Series: what love seeks [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (basically Jonah magnus being his normal dick self), (mentioned) - Freeform, Abusive Relationships, Aftermath of Possession, Beholding Basira, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gore, It's canon typical gore but also i love body horror so, Past Abuse, Possession, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Post-Possession, The Hunt, be careful guys, depersonalisation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marianne_Dashwood/pseuds/Marianne_Dashwood
Summary: For Basira, the world ends on the slightly drizzly Thursday morning, right as she steps into her favorite cafe.It’s hard to describe, the moment she feels the world warp and change and collapse around her, but there is this horrible gut feeling of utter wrongness, and she feels a tug in her navel, a tug that only later she will realise was pulling her back to the Institute. Towards the Archive.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Melanie King, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard & Melanie King, Georgie Barker & Melanie King, Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Series: what love seeks [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537819
Comments: 27
Kudos: 109





	by claw and by fang (or by the gun)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I am desperate to get this out, it is the longest one-shot I have ever written and it's gonna kill me, so here it is :D
> 
> Many many grateful thanks to the members of the Magnus Writers discord (as usual!) for being so supportive and welcoming, and actually beta-reading this 10,000+ word monstrosity, and to @dewdropstar_ on twitter for letting me ramble about this to you instead of actually writing the thing. 
> 
> The support I have gotten from this fandom has been amazing and this wouldn't have gottenwritten if it wasn't for all of your good selves, so, thank YOU!!
> 
> Please, let me know if you enjoyed this absoloute labour of love by leaving kudos/comments!! And come find me @marianne-dash-wood on tumblr or @MJDashwood on twitter!!
> 
> Title comes from the following poem, found at https://www.poetryinnature.com/poem/hunters-of-autumn/, credit where credit is due!
> 
> And also a thank you to @vermillion_shade on twitter, who doesn't know me, but does the most wonderful Beholding!Basira art, which definetely inspired me to actually finish this fic!

For Basira, the world ends on the slightly drizzly Thursday morning, right as she steps into her favorite cafe. 

She steps in because they are the only place that gets the balance between caffeine, chocolate and pumpkin spice just right, (Basira gets very few joys in her life nowadays, flavoured sugary drinks are one of them), and when the world _shifts_ she’ll curse the eldritch powers who decided to do this before she got her caffeine. 

It’s hard to describe, the moment she feels the world warp and change and collapse around her, but there is this horrible gut feeling of utter wrongness, and she feels a tug in her navel, a tug that only later she will realise was pulling her back to the Institute. Towards the Archive.

For a moment in this chaos, she isn’t quite Basira anymore. There’s an itching, a fire racing along her palms and up her back, the feeling of watching and being watched, of being completely and utterly known in her entirety. This, this is desperate rapture, desperate hunger to _know_ , to fall into knowledge as quickly and as easily as falling asleep. She wants to take and take and hoard and watch and solve, and it’s awful, awesome wonder, this halfway point between humanity and something else entirely, teetering on the edge of a realisation, of a breakthrough. 

She is not Basira, she is something more and something less, and something pulses in her mind, awareness of a creature that is also something more and something less than human. It is overwhelming, this urge to find and seek and protect, because she is the Detective, and her place is at the Archive’s side, serving it wholly and unreservedly and-

And she is Basira again, on her hands and knees on the floor of her favorite cafe, and there is still that pull in the back of her mind, urging her somewhere ( _Towards the Archive_ ) but she ignores it as she stands, shaking.

She’s aware that she’s clutching her stomach as the nausea subsides, and for a moment she thinks it was just her, that it was just an effect of the Beholding’s patronage and the fact that the Archivist is absent from the Archives. Then the screaming begins. 

Basira looks up, just in time to see the barista behind the counter be pulled into the kitchen by something with too many arms and far, far too many eyes. The customers scatter, a cacophony of screams and pain and terror, the entirety of the cafe bathed in a sickly green light. At first, Basira thinks something has fucked with the lights of her favorite cafe. Then she looks outside, and realises exactly where the light is coming from. 

“Fuck.” She says, with as much venom as she can muster. Whatever is happening, it is the furthest thing from good.

There is a buzz in the back of her mind, and it sounds like a voice, indistinct words out of an old radio. 

Her first instinct is to go to the Institute, but who is there for her to find? Jon and Martin are gone; hopefully safe, but who even knows anymore. Daisy - her heart stutters in grief, even now, that hurts more than knowing that the world is ending - Daisy is gone, and maybe, maybe if she looked hard enough, she could find her, but she doesn’t count on it. 

So, really, in the end, _at_ the end, there’s only one place for her to go. 

Basira isn’t stupid. She has fought, tooth and nail every single day to be where she is right now. Because she knows she’s smart, she knows she’s more capable than anyone who has ever stood in her way. And she knows that she didn’t know Melanie and Georgie’s address before. 

She Knows that if she takes two left turns and a right, she’ll sidestep around the unfathomable creatures tearing apart the high street. She Knows that taking a back alley will keep her hidden for the right amount of time to pass the Hunters. She knows that if she wanted to, she could Know and Know and Know, and she wouldn’t be afraid of this terrifying new world. 

Her palms itch, and she rubs them together and tries to ignore it. She has bigger things to worry about.

Jon called it a door in his mind. For Basira, it seems more like a gaping chasm. One step, and she will fall. 

She has no intention of falling today. She takes the scraps of knowledge that the void gives to her, but that is all. 

Fuck, Melenie. She only just got out of this. She thought she was safe. _She should have known better_ , a cruel part of Basira’s mind whispers, _if you find her, they will only be dead weight to you._

Basira shuts down the terrible thoughts in her mind. If there was one thing she had learned while Elias sent her on all his wild goose chases, she was better sticking with the people she knew. She had left Jon alone, and he had gone into the Buried. She had left Martin alone, and he had almost been swallowed by the Lonely. She had left Daisy, and now she was gone. 

She doesn’t have friends. Not anymore. And Daisy… Daisy was everything but a friend. She was a confidante, partner, the axis around which Basira’s world spun. She was the grief that had coated her world for six long months, waiting in the back of her mind until it was ready to rear its head again. She was rage and ruin and gentle mornings and quiet drives. She was the breath in Basira’s lungs for so, so long, and then Basira had had to learn how to live without her. And, wheezing, lungs burning and aching, she had done it. Then Daisy had come back, and she had to learn how to breathe again. Shaky and wrong and deep breaths of calm, not the rhythm nor the air she had grown used to in patrols and at desks. But it was air, and it was Daisy, and she was enough. Now the Hunt hadn’t just taken her air, but it had taken her lungs too. Left her broken and bleeding, but _alive_. She was still alive, and she very much intended to keep on living. She had lived without her before. It had hurt, but she had done it. She will do it again, no matter how ragged her breathing becomes, no matter how much her heart breaks against her chest. 

She takes a moment outside the block of flats where Georgie and Melanie live, to choke down her grief, readjust her hijab, just breathe. The apocalypse here is fog and smoke; the bittersweet fog that calls gently to let it consume you, and the smoke that tastes of ashes and destruction. Westminster is burning, it’s debris raining down, and somehow, even in the fog, the gaze of the great and terrible Eye above her is piercing and clear. 

“Fuck you.” Basira mutters, just because she can, and heads up the stairs to the flat. 

There’s surprisingly little blood in the stairwell. Probably a good thing. The Slaughter anywhere near Melanie would be a bad idea

She knocks on the door. Civility in the apocalypse; what a world she lives in. 

There’s a muffled voice behind the door, and Melanie’s voice is anxious. 

“Don’t open the door!”

A second voice, vaguely familiar from the few times she heard her at the Institute.

“I don’t think an agent of the apocalypse would knock, Melanie.”

Despite the lack of fear in her voice, the door is opened cautiously, and Basira sees the bush of black curls, bright brave eyes, and a set expression that slips into puzzlement as soon as Georgie realises who she is. 

“Basira?” She asks, and behind her, Melanie echoes the query, and there is the sound of footsteps crossing the room. 

“Can I come in? It’s kind of a shitshow out here.”

Georgie unhooks the chain on the door, and when it swings open, Basira sees her clutching a heavy, nasty looking bat which has what looks like pieces of broken mirror embedded into it, while Melanie is behind her, clutching a huge ginger cat to her chest with one hand and with a long kitchen knife in the other. 

“I’d say so.” Georgie says, ruefully. Melanie puts down the knife to hug the cat (the Admiral?) closer, and while Georgie closes the door behind Basira and carefully locks it, she doesn't put down her bat. 

“Are you guys alright?” Basira asks. 

“As best as we can be,” Georgie answers. “What the fuck is going on out there?”

Before Basira can answer, Melanie does, her voice loud even with the echoes of screams outside. 

“It’s the Eye, isn’t it?” She shivers, and drops a kiss onto the Admirals head to calm herself. “I… I can feel it’s Gaze. It’s singing.”

Georgie moves over to her girlfriend, putting the bat to one side and looping an arm around Melanie’s waist. 

“It’s not just the Eye,” Basira says. “It’s everything. Every Entity, every fear. They’re all here now.”

“ _How_?” Melanie asks, horrified, at the same time that Georgie asks, with grief-stricken resignation, “Is Jon-”

Basita sighs. “I don’t know, to both,” And she looks to Georgie, apology in her eyes and words. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know if Eli- _Jonah_ did this on his own. I don’t know if he even could do it without his precious Archivist.” 

“But, I thought he was in Scotland?” Melanie asks, turning her head to Georgie. She does still have eyes, Basira notes, but they are far too damaged to be of use to her. Kind of the point, of course, but it is still hard for Basira to look at the scars that cover her friend’s face. 

Georgie nods, and looks to Basira with a torn look in her eyes. “He was, when we last spoke to him. And he was normal, Basira, I swear he was, he was supposed to have a therapy appointment next week, for god's sake, he wouldn’t have done this.”

“We can’t say that for sure,” Basira says, ignoring Georgie’s expression. “Jonah might have gotten to him somehow.”

“He was supposed to be safe!” Georgie says. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Basira replies. “You think I didn’t send him up there for exactly this reason? I don’t know what happened, but _I know_ that Magnus is behind it somehow. He has to be. Whether Jon went along with it, willingly or otherwise, is a different question entirely.”

“You really think that he did this intentionally?” Melanie asks, incredulous. “I know it’s _Jon_ , and he has a habit of doing rash, stupid things, but he doesn’t want to end the world, for gods sake!”

“I have no idea, Melaine,” Basira says, very aware of the fact that she could Know, if she wanted too. Not yet. _Not yet_. “But I intend to find out. Unintentional or not, he’s our best shot at finding out exactly what happened.”

“And how to stop it,” Georgie says, picking up her bat again and shouldering it. “There has to be a way to reverse this, right?”

“If we’re lucky, yeah.” Basira says, aware that they’ve never been very lucky before. 

“Alright,” Melanie says. “I’ll go pack a bag.”

Both Basira and Georgie immediately make noises of protest. Melanie glares at them, her gaze no less forceful behind her scars and unseeing eyes. 

“If either of you say that I should stay behind, I’ll set the Admiral on you.”

In her arms, the Admiral purrs. 

“Actually,” Basira says. “I was going to suggest both of you stay in the Institute. It’ll be safer for both of you there.”

Georgie and Melanie are so quick to protest that they overlap each other in their indignation. 

“I’m not going back there!”

“Jon’s my friend, I’m coming with you to find him!”

Basira holds her hands up placatingly. 

“You’re civilians. I don’t want to go back to the Institute either, but it’s still the Eye’s place of power, it has protections that other places don’t have. The lesser of two evils, you know? And there might be information there that can help us.”

Melanie shakes her head. “I’m coming with you, _both of you.”_ She says, shooting a glare at Georgie who opened her mouth to protest. “I’m not staying at the Institute on my own.”

“Melanie, you’ll -” Basita starts, but Melanie cuts her off.

“Basira, I love you, but if you say ‘You’ll only slow us down’, I will stab you.”

Basira sighs. “Fine! But we should go to the Institute first.”

“Why?” Georgie asks. “That place and everything in it is _evil_.” Her eyes, for a second, flick to Melanie’s.

Basira can’t tell her the truth as to why. She just knows that she has too, she has a feeling, an instinct, and she cannot even explain to herself why she needs to go back to the Institute. She just knows she has too. 

“There might be information on what exactly happened there. And, if we’re all going to Scortland, we’ll need somewhere to stay tonight that’s safe.”

Melanie raises an eyebrow, and Basira amends her statement. “Well, safer than here.”

Georgie sighs and turns to go to the bedroom. “I’ll get the cat carrier.”

Basira decides, for the simple sake of not wanting to get stabbed, not to start that particular argument. 

It takes less than half an hour for the three of them (four, if one counts the Admiral) to be ready to leave. They are well-stocked with food and other necessities, (“We’d just gotten back from the shops when everything went to shit, at first I just thought Georgie had dropped the milk when she shouted.”). Other things, such as a camera and portable microphone, were packed securely into Georgie’s backpack, and Basira doesn’t think will be necessary but was glared at if she protested.

At the exit of the building, they stop. Melanie carries the Admiral’s carrier in one hand, and holds on tightly to Georigie’s in the other. For the moment, her foldable cane is tucked securely into the side of her bag. Georgie grips her bat, and nods to Basira. 

She opens the door to the horrors outside, and they run. 

The Beholding isn’t as benevolent to her as it was on the way there, so by the time they get to the Institute, Basira’s lungs are burning and Georgie’s bat is dripping red. 

The steps of the Institute are as clean as they always have been, and that is perhaps more unnerving that if they were covered in gore. In front of the police tape, there is a pile of something that might have been a police officer, but it’s blood doesn't touch the steps. 

Basira tries not to think about it too much as she pushes open the door and hurries the others inside. 

The entrance hall of the Institute is as quiet and pristine as it has ever been, with no sign of the Hunt that had prowled it’s walls, nor the slaughter and terror outside. 

“Quick clean-up.” She remarks aloud, and it very grateful for it. 

“Where would be best for us to go?” Georgie asks. “The Archives?”

“What about Elias’s office?” Melanie says. “It’ll be a lot comfier than the Archives, and knowing him, it’ll be a lot safer.”

“This has nothing to do with you wanting to trash his office, is it?” Georgie asks, a smile on her face for the first time. 

“What an excellent idea, Georgie!” Melanie says, as if it’s the first time she’s heard of the idea, but her grin betrays her otherwise. “We should totally trash his office.”

“We can get the cots from the Archive,” Basira says. “Drag them upstairs. Maybe grab a few statements on the way.” And when Georgie shoots her a concerned look. “If Jon’s still… mostly Jon, we’ll need him at full strength.”

She doesn't mention that she's worried that she might need them soon. Her palms itch, and she notices it has spread to her back, between her shoulder blades. She shifts her coat in a half-hearted attempt to scratch at it.

Georgie nods, and takes Melanie’s hand. “Are you coming with us?”

“I should scout upstairs. Make sure that… no one unsavory has snuck in.” And Basira nods towards the bat. “You can handle yourself?”

Georgie nods. “I know my way around the Archives from all the times I picked up Melanie.”

“I still know what this damn place looks like.” Melanie adds. “Spent too much time here not to know.”

Basira pauses. She knows Georgie is competent, but there are years of police training and years before that of watching Saturday morning cartoons and shouting at the television for the gang not to split up that causes doubts in her mind. 

They’re hardly the Scooby gang. And if any of them would be best to search alone, it would be Basira, with her training and her expertise. Still, she knows it will feel wrong, without her partner at her back, looking out for her six. 

“Meet me here in fifteen miniutes,” Basira comprises “If you aren’t, I’m coming to find you.”

Both Melanie and Georgie nod, and Melenie leads Georgie with practiced ease towards the doors of the archive. Basira wonders, that if she had taken the exit the Jon had offered, how easily she would move in a dark world. 

Elias - Jonah’s office is her first stop. She checks every room she goes past, and the space at her back gapes in it’s emptiness. 

There is very little evidence of the Hunters rampage up here. A few papers scattered around, a few broken doors, but it seemed that everyone who worked up here managed to get out before the Hunters arrived.

The door to Jonah’s office fills her with a dread that she cannot quite name. He’s gone, she knows that, his goals achieved and there is no way that he could be waiting behind that door with that snide grin and cruel blue eyes. She knows he isn’t there. 

So why is she so scared of opening the door?

The handle is cold iron against her hand, and sends a chill down her spine. 

_Just open the door, Basira_ . She thinks. _It’s only an office_. 

With a practiced shove, forcing her way through the door and out of her thoughts. 

She didn’t know what she expected. The office is silent, still, untouched since the day Elias was dragged out in handcuffs. There is a thick layer of dust; not surprising since Peter Lukas barely ever stepped in here. 

And yet, there are faint footsteps in the plush red carpet. Some of the papers have scattered on the floor from an open window. And, perhaps more importantly, there is a cot, with rumpled blankets shoved next to the wall. 

It could have a simple explanation. Martin would have spent his days and his nights here, as Peter’s assistant. It could be his cot. It could be his footsteps. 

There’s a small side room to Elias’s office; always locked, Melanie got into it once, she Knows. It isn’t something that Basira needed to notice before, but she notices it now. 

It’s unlocked now. Slightly ajar, with faint light spilling from beneath the doorway. And there is movement behind it. 

Basira brings her pistol up, thumbs the initials _D.T._ scratched into the handle, steels herself. 

“I know you’re there!” She says, with all the authority she can muster. “Show yourself, unarmed!”

When there is no movement, she fires a shot into the door frame. Rash, perhaps, but she isn’t taking any chances. “Now!”

The door creaks open, and a horribly familiar voice echoes in Basira’s ears. 

“Detective?”

Basira sees red. A haze comes over her eyes, and before she knows it, she has strode across the room and punched Elias in the nose. There’s a very very satisfying crack, and he stumbles back, hands flying to his face.

“Fucking _ow!_ ” He says, muffled as he tries to stop the blood flow from his nose. “What the _fuck_?”

Okay. That’s weird. 

Behind her, the sound of running footsteps approaches and Melanie and Georgie burst in, hand in hand, Georgie already with her bat raised. 

“What’s wrong, we heard a shot -” Georgie stops when she spots the cowering figure, and alright, that is definitely Elias, Basira would recognise the grey streaked hair and suit anywhere, but it’s different. It’s wrong, somehow. 

This strange Elias lifts his head, and Basira cannot help her short gasp of horror as she stares into empty sockets. 

“Well,” Elias says, in a voice that is both terrifying in it’s familiarity, and hopeful in all the ways that it isn't, “At least I‘m pretty sure this isn’t some terrible trip now, huh?”

Melanie sums it up quite nicely by saying “What the actual fuck. Basira, is that -”

“Yeah.” Basira says, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I think it is.” She directs her attention back to the man in front of her. She doesn’t hand him anything to stop the bleeding. 

“You’re Elias, aren’t you? The real Elias. Not Jonah.”

He shakes his head. “Not Elias. Only my parents called me Elias.” He holds out a hand, only slightly bloodstained. “Eli. It is… so good to finally meet you. Never thought I’d actually ever be able to shake your hand, Detective.”

Basira doesn't take his hand, and after a moment of waiting, he shrugs. “That’s fair,” He says. “Let's say it was a metaphorical handshake.”

“Are we seriously listening to a word this guy is saying?” Melanie says, gabbing a hand in the general direction of Elias - Eli. 

“Melanie,” Georgie says quietly. “He doesn’t have any eyes.”

Melanie opens her mouth to reply, but Eli has already cut her off, his grin suddenly wide. 

“Wait, Melanie? The Melanie?!”

This shocks Melanie enough that she tilts her head in curiosity and takes a step forward. 

“What do you mean, _the_ Melanie?”

Eli chuckles, grins like he’s meeting his hero. “Oh, he _hated_ you. I think you were one of the few people that actually got under his skin. And when you got out… Oh he was so pissed. It was fan-fucking-tastic.”

The words sound so strange, coming out of this mouth, in this voice. But it isn’t the voice she was used too, not entirely, anyway. It’s slightly higher pitched, leans into a broader, rougher accent that is mixed with the remnants of Jonah’s proper royal pronunciation. 

Basira decides that she will tolerate it, for now. 

“What do you remember?” She asks sharply. “Where is Jonah now?”

“Gone,” Eli says. “I don’t know how. The last thing I remember is watching the Archivist walking into fog, and then…” He sighs. “I’m waking up in here, in control of myself for the first time in over 20 years, and the whole world is screaming.”

He frowns. “‘Where is the Archivist, by the way?”

“ _Jon_ ,” Georgie says pointedly, “is in Scotland. And you, with all your creepy Beholding shite, are going to help us find him.”

Eli’s hands twist together, and he shifts on the balls of his feet. He’s clearly agitated, but whether that's because he is deceiving them, or because it’s the literal apocalypse is too hard to tell. 

“I, er…” He starts, stops, tries again. “I won’t be of much use. Jonah… he took, well, all the ‘creepy Beholding shite’ with him. I can’t see right in front of me, anymore than I can try and see what's going on on the other end of the country.”

“So, you’re useless.” Basira says, not without cruelty. 

Eli’s shoulders sag imperceptibly, but the Detective notices. “Wouldn't be a change from every other day of my life.”

Basira feels a tug on her arm, and lets Georgie pull her and Melanie in a small huddle. 

“What the hell are we going to do with him?” She asks. 

“I don’t know,” Basira sighs. “Right now, we need allies. He could be useful to us in the long-run, as a connection to Jonah, a source of information perhaps, but that’s a risky move.”

“We could leave him here?” Melanie suggests. “That way I don’t have to listen to his stupid voice all the way up to Scotland.”

“And what happens if Jonah comes back?” Basira argues. “We lose a potential ally?”

“If he’s telling the truth.” Georgie says, measured. “He’s completely defenseless. And the next people who come through here might not be as willing to listen as we are. And...”

By her tone, it’s clear that if this had been Jonah, then Georgie would have been one of those people. 

“It’s not right to just leave him here.” She finishes, quieter than before. 

“Georgie!” Melanie protests. 

“Look, it’s clear he hates Jonah as much as we do. An ally, right?” She squeezes Melanie’s hand, who is clearly sulking. “He doesn’t have to be a friend. You know I wouldn’t say this if it literally wasn’t the end of the world.”

Basira makes a decision. It’s easy, really; would she rather say what is in her head, or make morning Basira decide? Eli, if it is really him, would be another dead weight on her shoulders. At least she knows that Melanie can defend herself, though not as effectively as Basira would have hoped or wanted. But Eli? He’s a middle-aged man with absolutely no muscle and a lifetime’s experience of sitting behind a desk gloating. Even if that wasn’t really him, it was his body. 

“We can make a decision in the morning. Keep an eye on him overnight and watch for any suspicious behaviour,” She says. “If he’s still… Eli, in the morning, we’ll… decide.”

“If you guys have finished deciding whether to kill me or not,” Eli says loudly over their hushed conversation. “You’d better hurry up. Judging by outside, there’s going to be a long queue to get into the afterlife.”

“Just for the record,” Malanie says loudly, folding her arms over her chest. “I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

Eli smiles. Something in it is a little wrecked, so uncharacteristic of that face Basira had come to loathe. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Melanie.”

* * *

Basira tries not to listen in, she really does. She knows that they are in the safest place they could possibly be, even if it doesn’t feel like it, and she knows that Melanie can and will take care of herself if the need arises. She knows that Georgie made Melanie promise to wake them up the second something went wrong. 

Yet, she still lies awake as the world stays bright, caught in the gaze of the Eye outside, even when Georgie closed the curtains of Elias’s office with a definitive motion. 

She wonders if she will ever sleep without feeling like she is being watched again. She wonders if it will be Jon or Daisy who show up in her nightmares tonight. So, it really is no surprise that she is still awake to hear Eli gasp quietly, and the rustle of sheets indicates that he has sat up in his cot. 

Then, there are quiet, horrible noises that Basira knows without Knowing, are the sounds of someone trying desperately to muffle their crying into their knees. 

“I’m not going to laugh at you.” Melanie snaps, voice low. “The others are asleep. Cry as loud as you want.”

A sniff. Eli’s voice is quiet, cracking in the silence. “I don’t think the Detective would be too happy if I woke her in the middle of the night.”

“I think she’s just be happy if you stopped calling her Detective. Her name is Basira.”

Eli pauses. “Right. Sorry, it’s just… That’s what he called her, you know? That’s, that’s what I know.”

“And that’s why she would appreciate it if you didn’t.” Every word out of Melanie’s mouth is hard, pinched. There’s the sound of someone breathing deeply through her nose. 

There’s a few more noises, sheets scraping against the floor, and Eli’s voice sounds nearer to Melanie’s now.

“Can I sit?”

A very stagnant pause from Melanie fills the air. Her voice is ice cold when she speaks. “If you want.”

There is a horribly awkward silence for a moment. With a small meow, the Admiral, left to his own devices for the most part, climbs over Basira, and apparently into one of their laps, probably Eli considering his small sound of surprise. 

“Can I…” Eli says, then his confidence wavers slightly in the face of Melanie’s silent disapproval. “I just wanted…” He sighs, and then says the words quietly, but with complete and absolute sincerity that strikes Basira somewhere deep in her gut. 

“I’m really, really sorry about what happened to your father.” 

The air in the room seems to drop by several degrees. 

“You don’t,” Melanie says, teeth gritted, “Get to talk about my father.”

Basira can feel Eli shrinking away from Melanie’s wrath. 

“I’m sorry, I just… I saw it, when he, you know, and I… my parents died, a year after Jonah, and he… He always liked to throw up how much of a better son he was, to them, and, for years he, he made those memories play again and again whenever I pissed him off too much. So. I get it. And I’m so sorry, Melanie.”

There are a few deep breaths as Melanie seems to try and regain control of her situation. 

“I really, really want to punch you right now.” Melanie says, and her voice has a measured tone to it that betrays that she is trying very hard to control herself. 

Eli sighs, exhausted and braced for the impact. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“But,” Melanie interrupts, “I’m making an effort. I’ve been trying so hard, these past few months, and I am not giving that all up for _you_.” 

“You can punch me, if you want,” Eli says, “I’m feeling like it won’t be the last time.”

“You’re holding the Admiral.” Melanie says, and to Basira’s relief, her voice sounds lighter than before. Not much, but something. The knot of tension in her chest that she didn’t even realise was there loosens, gently.

“Is that his name?” Eli asks. “I think he likes me.”

“He likes anyone who’ll give him attention,” Melanie replies, and there’s a smile in her voice for the first time. 

Eli snorts, quietly. “Definitely like me.”

There is another pregnant pause. Then Melanie speaks first. 

“How did you even end up here? You don’t seem like.. The type of person that this place attracts.”

Eli laughs quietly. “I wasn’t. I’m still not. But that didn’t stop me being manipulated into it.”

“Jonah.” It’s a statement, not a question. 

“It was James, when I first knew him,” Eli says. “My parents… Let’s just say that I was the family disappointment, and then some. The job here was my last chance at getting some favor back with my dad. I had… debts, and he said he would pay them off if I took this job, and at the end of it, I didn’t really have a choice.’

‘Needless to say, I… didn’t really give a shit about my job. I came into work as high as a kite most days, and hungover on the days I didn’t. Everyone else my age here was a grad student or doing a dissertation or something or other and I… barely graduated with a third. I was alone most of the time, and I think that's why James was able to… get into my head, you know.”

Eli sniffs, and with growing horror, Basira realises he’s crying again; quieter this time, his tears an inevitability interspacing his words. 

“He was the first person to ever say I could be extraordinary. The only person, really. And… I believed him. I believed him when he said I could be something, I believed him when he said I was important, I believed him when he said he _loved_ -” His voice cracks on the last word, and there’s another sniff.

“God.” Melanie says quietly, and she puts as much venom into that one word as she ever did when talking about the man she knew as Elias.

“I believed him,” Eli says, miserable, “I knew I shouldn’t have done, and I did it anyway. When… when he told me he was dying and only I could help, I believed him so easily, so entirely, I didn’t even suspect it was a lie. I-I followed him and I _trusted_ him right up until the point he ripped **_my eyes out of their sockets-_ ** ”   
  
“Elias!” Melanie says, sharply, cutting off his words (words that were tinged with static, Basira realises), and then speaks quieter, wary of waking up the only other sleeping person in the room. “Stop! Just… stop. Please.”

“Easier to hate, when you didn’t know,” Eli says, bitterly, “It’s okay. I hate me too. I was so stupid, back then. I’m still stupid now.” 

Eli’s crying becomes muffled, a slight inhale of breath and Basira takes a chance to crack open her eyes and sees a sight that she never in a million years expected. 

Wrapped in clumsy, and awkward hands, Melanie is hugging Elias. He leans into her shoulder and his whole body is shaking and even though his face is turned away from Basira he looks so much younger than she ever expected Elias Bouchard to look.

Twenty years of his life, she remembers. He was just starting his life, had barely graduated university and then he woke up at the end of the world, in his forties? 

A wave of hatred of Jonah Magnus rises in her, and she clenches a fist into the blankets covering her. 

“It… It wasn’t your fault.” Basira hears Melanie say. Haltingly, as if the words sit ungainly in her mouth, but she says them, and that is what matters. 

“It is… All of this, it’s my-”

Melanie cuts him off, and pulls away from the hug, and Basira quickly closes her eyes again. 

“Did you want to let him possess your body?” She asks, and now she sounds more sure, firm. “Did you go with him with that express and clear intention?”

“No, but-”

“Did he ever explain to you what he was going to do? Did he ever give you a choice, an actual, informed choice?”

“I, I don’t know,” says Eli, “It’s all hazy, I think he must have put something in the tea because when he lead me down I could barely walk -”

“Yes or no?” Melanaie asks, steel in her voice. 

“I… No. No he didn’t. He lied to me.”

“Right then,” Melanie says, satisfied, “Then it’s not your fault.”

“How can you just _say_ that? He - I did horrible things, we did terrible things, _to you_ , to others, to the whole damn world!”

“If you don’t stop arguing with me, you will be punched, and that will 100% be your fault.” Melanie stretches, sighs. “Look, the burden of guilt came up a lot in therapy, okay? I’ve gotten very good at discerning which actions actually have consequences. All of this shit, everything El-Jonah did to us - and yes, that includes you as well - that was him. We can’t keep blaming ourselves for things that he did _to_ us.”

“You blame me, though.” Eli says quietly.

“I don’t forgive you,” Melanie says, “That face, that _voice_ hurt me too much for forgiveness to come easily. That’s not unusual, I don’t think I’ve even forgiven Jon for what he’s done. But I don’t _blame_ you. I blame him. He manipulated you. He’s manipulated everyone, one way or another. That’s what he does, and there’s no way you could have stopped him, same as us.”

“I almost wished you had,” Basira hears a rustling, imagines Eli running a hand through his hair worryingly. “All those times you… Well, you tried. And it was more than anyone else had done in so long, and even though I knew it wouldn’t be good for anyone else in the Institute, sometimes I wished that you would…” Eli lets out a breath. “Even though you didn’t, I… thank you for trying.”

Melanie shakes her head. “Don’t thank me for trying to kill you, Christ, Elias.”

“Eli.” He replies, strained. “Please. Just Eli.”

“Alright then, Eli,” Melanie says, “If you’re going to insist that you’re responsible for the apocalypse, then I’m just as responsible as you. For failing to kill him.”

“What?” Eli says, and for a moment he sounds so baffled, so out of sorts from the Elias Basira used to know. “No, that’s not what I was trying to say! You shouldn’t, that wasn’t your responsibility!”

“And it wasn’t yours,” Melanie says, easily, “No more blaming ourselves for the literal apocalypse, okay? We’ll… we’ll find Jon, and Martin, and we’ll figure out what the hell we are going to do.”

“You’re very optimistic for someone at the end of the world.”

Melanie sounds like she shrugs, and the floor creaks as she leans back. “World’s still turning, isn’t it? There’s still a way to fix this, no matter the mistakes we’ve made along the way.”

Eli hums quietly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “I thought we weren’t blaming ourselves.”

“I can sure as hell blame myself for accepting this stupid job in the first place, but everything else that happened… it’s not on me, or on you, or even on Jon. And I can’t even bring myself to regret it, those choices I made. Not when it lead me to Georgie. She is the best thing that has ever happened in my life, and I won’t regret her.”

“You love her.” Eli says, quiet understanding in his voice. 

“So much it scares me half to death,” Melanie replies, “But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“You’re lucky.” Eli says. “And she’s lucky to have you.”

“You don’t have to flatter me to try and get me on your side. I know you’re not him.”

“Can’t hurt though, right?” Eli says, teasing slightly and now that, that is weird to hear in Elias’s voice. “There probably won’t be any chance for me. Dating pool has shrunk significantly since the end of the world.”

“You never know.” Melanie says, yawning. 

“I can take over the rest of the watch, if you want to get some sleep.” Eli offers. 

“Nah,” Melanie says, in a voice that’s a bit too casual. Yes, Melanie believes that this is really Eli, not Jonah Magnus playing some horrible trick. But she’s not ready to trust him entirely yet. “It’s nearly Basira’s turn anyway. Go back to bed, Eli. It’s gonna be a long trip tomorrow.”

Eli knows a dismissal when he hears one. “Right. Well, I’ll… I’ll see you in the morning, Melanie.”

“Goodnight, Eli.” Melanie’s voice is much warmer than before, and Basira listens as Eli’s footsteps fade and his cot creaks as he lies down. 

Well. At least that conundrum is settled; once Melanie has made up her mind, there’s no changing it. 

Eli is coming with them to Scotland. 

* * *

They decide not to bother looking for a car in central London - not for the lack of them, but because driving it out of London would be nearly impossible. Basira and Georgie draws up a map, and they start walking towards the M1, with the objective of hopefully finding something there that will fit all of them. 

They all have some semblance of a weapon, even Eli, who only shakes slightly when Basira hands him a knife from the Institute's kitchen. Basria has her gun, of course, and Georgie has the glass-impaled bat. Melanie is carrying the Admiral’s carrier in addition to a wickedly sharp kitchen knife. 

There’s a pause when they step out. Georgie and Melanie are obviously hand in hand, and Basira throws a glance towards Eli. 

“I’m not holding your hand.” She says, ignoring how much of a child she sounds like. 

In response, Eli holds up a walking stick that he retrieved from the umbrella stand at the IInstitute 

“I got it. Don’t worry about me.”

What follows is a brief argument that ends in Eli grudgingly putting a hand on Melanie’s shoulder, and then they step into London.

What is perhaps most unnerving about it is the silence. The air is tinged with red, dust falls like snow from the sky, and the Eye stares down unblinkingly, and it seems the whole world is holding its breath.

Basira doesn’t like it. At least if there was screaming, they knew where to avoid. 

“Stay close.” She says, and hopes that her tentative attempts at Knowing don’t lead to their deaths. 

They’re almost there when everything goes to shit, because of course it does. They’re heading towards North London, and it’s almost laughable how nondescript the street is. Then again, they have all been nondescript. The empty streets are eerie in a way that overt blood and gore are not. 

It is almost as if it is just them, and the whole of London is empty. 

Until, of course, it isn’t. Basira barely gets a moment to react to the snarling that barrells towards her from her right, out of a darkened alley way that she had not noticed, and this terrible, awful, many limbed things chitters across the ground and slammed into her. 

She cries out in alarm, and hears Georgie do the same as Basira hits the ground with a thud. The creature, this mess of limbs and fur and the wrong legs pins her to the ground like a butterfly on a corkboard. 

It bears down on her, and with horror she realises that there are faces in the fur, screaming, terrified faces clawing their way out of the creatures skin, and when it opens its jaw (jaws?) it has many, many different types of teeth, and none of them are where they are supposed to be. 

There is a dull thud, and something that feels like blood but isn’t splatters onto Basira’s face as the creature howls in pain, Georgie’s bat buried into the side of it’s not-face. 

A few metres away, Melanie is crouched, knife out, showing Eli down with the Admiral behind him. 

The creature staggers back from the assault, whimpering and clutching its head with something that might have been a hand, long ago. 

“You okay?” Georgie asks, holding out a hand for Basira. 

“Yeah.” Basira says, and pulls out her gun. “Can you hit again when I down it?” 

“Gladly.” Georgie hefts the bat. “If you would do the honours”

Basira fires three times, aiming for the central mass as she was trained to do. The bullets find their mark, and the creature roars in dull pain, falling back onto two legs. 

Georgie steps forward and swings with all her might. The first blow dislodges one of its eyes. The second rips at its jaw, pulling away layers of fur and sinew. The third blow crushes its skull once and for all, hair and gore and glass scattered over the floor. 

It is dead, and Basira cannot shake the feeling that it had been far, far too easy.

“Thank fuck for that.” Georgie says, breathing heavily. 

“We should go, now.” Basira says, turning to the others. “There might be -”

“ **ThAt** _WAs_ ** _oURs._** ” It’s a mix between a screech and a voice, garbled and scrambled like it is being filtered through several old radios. High pitch and low pitch mingle like broken egg shells, grating across Baria’s ears. 

Vaguely, she hears Eli whimper.

The thing coming towards them, lumbering slowly, deliberately towards them, is horribly, recognizably human in every way that it isn't. It used to be two people, Basira thinks. There are four arms, and four legs, somewhere in there, mashed together with fur and crushed bone. 

Two limbs hang limply in the middle of its belly, almost distended organs in the dim light of the Eye above. It’s ‘tail’ was once a leg, and the four limbs that it is using to walk are all wrong, all different heights, one even two hands entwined together to form one limb. But the worst part is the face. It’s one face, even if half of it is covered in the remains of a scraggly beard, and on the other half, limp brown hair dangles. Four eyes, two green, two brown, stare at them in anticipation, and what is left of the mouth is a cruel sneer. The elongated jaw is reminiscent of that of a wolf, but it is hairless, human looking, save for the scar that trails on either side and over the mouth, dissecting the face almost into four mismatched puzzle pieces. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” Georgie says, and the thing pounces. 

Basira fires a shot, and the thing, the Hunter, shakes it off like it is nothing and continues towards them. Georgie swings with her bat, but the Hunter grabs it with the hand that was once two hands, ignoring the shards of glass that stab into its palms, and wrenches it free of Georgie’s grip. With a massive furry paw, it backhands Georgie and she lands with a thump at Melanie’s feet. 

Basira doesn’t get time to fire a shot before she, too, is knocked to the ground with the weight of a limb. She pulls the gun up again, but the creature hasn’t stopped to regard her. 

Instead, it is prowling towards the others as Melanie desperately feels Georgie’s forehead, trying to shake her awake. Eli is completely frozen in terror, holding the knife out in front of him as if that would do anything. At his feet is Georgie’s thrown bat.

“ _yOU sHOUldn’T_ **_HaVE DoNe_** **thAT**.” It says, in that voice that shouldn’t exist. 

“Melanie!” Basira shouts. “It’s ten paces directly in front of you! Go under it!”

Melanie nods, and starts to run. It raises a limb, and Basira shouts “On your left!”, and Melanie ducks, swerves and dives right underneath the Hunter, and drags her knife along its middle. It roars, and the leg that serves as its tail kicks, and catches Melanie as she runs towards the sound of Basira’s voice. It sends her sprawling and the Hunter turns to her, even as she scrambles blindly for the knife that skittered across the tarmac. 

Basira fires at the Hunter’s arm just before it swipes at Melanie. The bullet misses, and Basira won’t even have time to shout a warning. 

The Hunter, even as it reaches to attack, suddenly rears, the blood from it’s underbelly spilling onto the ground, and as it turns, snarling, Basira sees Eli, standing between the Hunter and Georgie’s unconscious form, shaking, but pulling the bat back for another swing. 

While he had the element of surprise before, he has no way to duck the jaws that snap at his arm, and throw him to the ground with a grunt of satisfaction. 

He screams in pain, flailing blindly. 

Melanie is still on her knees, clearly dazed by her fall. Georgie is unconscious. Basira is the only one standing. She cannot help but back away, even if only to give her a better aim to hit the Hunter’s form. 

Blood, actual human blood splatters across the road, and Eli screams. This time, he screams her name

“Basira! Basira, help me! Please! Help me!”

There is a moment, a horrible moment, where there is satisfaction coursing through Basria’s blood. That’s Elias, screaming, begging, pleading for her help. The man that trapped her in the archives, who indirectly caused Daisy’s imprisonment in the coffin, who knew she was there and didn’t tell anyone. This was the man who probably ended the world. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if she just let him die?

To her shame, she does consider this. She could grab Melanie and with her, Georgie and the Admiral and they could run. He would be a distraction, and they would be safe. 

The Detective raises the gun, but it is Basira who fires. At the first shot, the Hunter drops Eli’s arm, bloody and mangled. At the second, it turns and starts to race towards her. Basira manages to fire once more before it knocks her backwards and the gun flies out of her hand. 

“ **_WE’lL TakE OuR TIMe WiTh yOU_ **.’ It snarls, and Basira finally gets to see it’s dripping maw, peeling open like a rotten flower, human teeth out proportioned by blood red fangs, split into four jaws that snap and grin at Basira in desperate anticipation.

Basira closes her eyes when she feels the weight of it’s clawed limb on her chest, digging into her shirt. 

At least this will give time for the others to escape. At least this would have been worth it. 

At least she’ll see Daisy again. 

Its weight is suddenly pulled off her with such a sharpness that Basira gasps, suddenly realising now that she could barely breathe with it on top of her. 

It takes her a few tries to sit up, her elbows slipping on the pavement, and she can feel blood sluggishly drip down her neck, but her eyes aren’t deceiving her. What she sees… she sees a hulking creature bend over the Hunter, pinning it down with arms made of flesh and fur, and it pulls itself back before it tears into the thing that would have killed Basira, rips it apart with teeth that are far too long and jaws that open too wide. 

Basira gets to her feet shakily. Hopefully the two beasts will keep themselves occupied enough for them to get the hell out of here. She grabs Melanie by the arm, hauling her to her feet while saying a hushed “Its me!” to stop Melanie drawing the creature’s attention. Eli is whimpering in the middle of the road, clutching his bloody arm, but at least Georgie has already started to stir.

Melanie feels her way over to her, grabs her stick that had fallen to the wayside, and Basira ignores the quiet exchange of words as she limps her way over to Eli.

( _“Georgie, sweetheart, are you okay?”_

_“Yeah, I… is it gone?”_

_“Kinda. We gotta go, Georgie.”_ )

“Keep quiet.” She says, taking Eli’s uninjured arm. “It’s occupied for now. We have to go.”

She steers him towards the others, and glances at the fighting creatures over her shoulder. The Hunter has almost entirely stopped fighting, and something thick and red is dripping from the creature’s mouth. 

From here, Basira can get a better look at it. It is smaller than the other Hunter, though still clearly hulking and dangerous. It’s fur is a soft, sandy brown, splattered with dirt and blood, knotted and matted with blood from wounds in it’s side. But it isn’t this that causes Basira to stop, to realise, for her heart to drop into her stomach like a dead weight. There is a pattern in the fur, on the back of the creature, that streches out like an old, familiar scar. A scar Basira knows by sight, would know by touch alone. 

“Basira!” Georgie hisses, but Basira is frozen in a mix of horror and elation. 

Without realising what she is doing, she steps forward, and her food hits her fallen gun, skittering it across the road, and the sound echoes in the silent street. 

The creature, the Hunter, _Daisy_ , drops the dead Hunter’s heart, and turns it’s, _her_ head towards them. 

Basira hears Georgie swear behind her, but she can only stare into the creature’s eyes, eyes that are still the same pale blue, forget-me-nots in a face of horrors, six eyes blinking back at her from an elongated canine face that is more wolf than woman. 

“ _Daisy_ .” She says, reverently, achingly, knowing and _Knowing_ what this is and what she has to do, and she steps forward again, lifting up a hand. 

“Basira, what the hell are you doing?” Georgie shouts, all pretence of hiding or sneaking away forgotten as she watches Basira do something that’s probably incredibly stupid. 

Daisy probably won’t even know her. She is a monster, a beast, she just ripped something apart in front of Basira, and if she pounces, Basira doesn’t think she can pick the gun up in time. 

And yet. And yet, she pulled the other creature off of Basira. She saved her. That had to mean something. 

Except, Daisy’s hackles are up, and she is making her way towards Basira in a predatory prowl, but Basira doesn’t move. She can’t move. She won’t. Because it’s Daisy, and she cannot, will not abandon her again. 

This belief, this revelation, keeps her still, keeps her hand out, even though it shakes. 

Daisy is almost within reach now. Her gaze is locked with Basira’s, a predator on prey. 

“Daisy…” Basira breathes. “Daisy, it’s, it’s me. Basira.”

The Huntress, _Daisy_ , looms over her. Her jaw is stained red, and some of the blood drips onto the pavement. Her eyes, all of her eyes, examine her, splay her open and work out a thousand and one ways to hunt her down. 

And then, her snout dips. Presses, gently, into Basira’s outstretched hand. Soft and light fur rests under her fingertips, on her itching palms. The beast is calm, and Basira’s breath catches up with the rest of her. 

“Daisy.” She says, relief and terror all mixed up into a breath full of hope. “It’s you, you know me, _Daisy…_ ”

And then, Daisy’s nose touches the gun on the floor, pushes it towards Basira, and Basira immediately records. 

“Daisy, Daisy, no. I won’t.”

Daisy huffs, quiet, resigned. _You promised_.

“I know,” Basira insists, “I know, I know what I said, but I won’t, Daisy. It’s you, it’s still you -”

Daisy’s nose, stronger this time, lifts and pushes into Basira’s chest, harder this time, with the press of strong, sharp teeth behind it. The meaning is clear. _I’m dangerous. I’ll hurt you._

“You won’t.” Basira says, and Knows it and knows it. “You won’t because you’re Daisy, and _I know you_. You didn’t hurt me before. You won’t hurt me now.”

Daisy’s paw pushes the gun towards her again, insistently. _Please. You promised._

“That was before,” Basira says, and she winds her fingers into Daisy’s fur instead of picking up the gun, “Everything’s gone to shit, Daisy. The world has gone to shit, and I can’t -” She chokes back her tears. “I can’t do this without you. Not this.”

She tightens her hands in the fur, and she feels a deep hum in Daisy’s chest, halfway between a growl and a purr. Basira presses her face into Daisy’s thick fur, near to her pricked ears, and ignores the smell of blood. 

“Don’t make me do this without you, Daisy,” Basira whispers, “Please. Not again.”

Daisy exhales a fond, fatigued breath down the back of her jacket, and a polite, bemused cough echoes behind them in Georgie’s voice. 

“Okay, when you’re done hugging the terrifying hell beast, will you please explain what's going on?”

“It’s… It’s Daisy.” Basira says, her voice choked, to her shame. “It’s Daisy.”

“Oh god.” Georgie says, and well. There are no gods here, not anymore, but there is a miracle in her arms.

Daisy is here. The world is ending, Basira might be teetering on the edge of a precipice from which she will never climb back up again, and Daisy is here. Changed and different and _Daisy_. 

There’s a cry of pain behind her, and Basira turns to see Eli struggling to his feet, having jostled his arm in the process. 

Immediately, there is a growl, and Daisy’s eyes, all of them, narrow on Eli, who is holding his bleeding arm to his chest and ineptly trying to stem the bleeding. 

With a forceful shove, she pushes Basira out of the way, stalking forward with cruel intent.

“Daisy, Daisy, wait-” Basira’s hand catches on Daisy fur, but it slips out of her hand as Daisy pushes forward, intent on Eli.

She’s growling now, and Eli freezes as he hears it come closer to him, and he flinches as a few drops of blood drip from Daisy’s open mouth as she bears down upon him.

It’s feral, every movement of hers is charged with a predatory gait that she adopts with no fuss, no fanfare. The Hunt is in her now, she has her prey and nothing, _nothing_ , will stop her from taking it.

She snaps at him, close enough for her teeth to graze the blood on his arm, and he yelps, stumbles backwards and falls directly onto his arse again. 

“Daisy!” Basira says, and Daisy growls in anger as she leans down, savouring the fear that is dripping off Eli in waves. “No, Daisy. It’s not him.”

Her jaws snap shut an inch away from Eli’s face, and Georgie lets out a cry of protest.

“Daisy.” Basira says, commands. Her back burns and her palms itch and she stares at the Huntress and the Huntress’s many eyes stare back at the Detective, a silent battle of wills and patrons.

(Georgie doesn’t feel fear, but she might have done, watching these two beings who are very much not human anymore, fight over someone who undoubtedly is.

If Melanie could see, she might have seen the shadow of _something_ behind Basira, a frame, a gift, a cradle)

Daisy growls again, anger ceeding to irritation as the Hunt caves and Basira steps forward, between Daisy and Eli.

“It’s not him, Daisy. Jonah is gone, but we are going to find him, and we are going to fix this. Do you understand?”

Behind her, Eli grabs a hold of her arm, and pulls himself up, unaware, or uncaring, that he’s dripping blood all over her jacket. He’s shaking. The fear is sweet, sick, and smells like a statement. Basira burrows that particular feeling deep, deep down inside, and maintains eye contact with Daisy. 

The Huntress retreats, but she still glares at Eli, who shakes still. 

“Basira…” He says, whimpering. “I, uh… Is that Detective Tonner? Is she…?”

“She’s alive.” Basira says, shortly, pulling Eli around and starting to tear up the remains of his jacket into usable bandaged. “Don’t piss her off anymore, okay?”

“I’ll try not too.” Eli says, wincing as Basira pulls the makeshift bandages tight. 

Daisy has stepped towards Melanie, resting her head over her shoulder and making her jump, her huge body curling around the pair of them. She might not have known Georgie well, but Melanie is with Georgie, and the message is clear, even if Eli can’t see it. _My pack. My people._

Basira cannot help but huff out a laugh. Eli tilts his head up to her. 

“I… Thank you,” says Eli, “You didn’t have to save me before.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Basira says, and feels a twinge of guilt when Eli flinches with the insult, “Of course I did.” 

“Why?” Eli asks. 

Basira considers this. Examines the boy in an old man’s body, blood starting to seep through the bandages, empty sockets looking up at her with something that is almost hope. 

“Because,” Basira says, stops, thinks about it a little more. There’s a lot of ways that she could finish that sentence. Because it wasn’t his fault. Because Jonah Magnus has hurt so many people, using this man’s body, and is probably hurting so many more right now. Because Basira doesn’t know what is happening to her, and she’s trying to hold on to the parts of humanity she has left. Because, it’s the end of the world, and sometimes the only thing you can do is be kind. 

“Because he hurt all of us,” Basira says. It’s inadequate, but it’s enough for now. She squeezes Eli’s shoulder, “And I won’t let Magnus’ world hurt anyone else. Not if I can help it.”

He stares at her a little longer, out of those sightless eyes. Basira wonders what his original eyes looked like. 

_Brown_ , a voice in the back of her mind whispers, and the fire in her palms and back picks up, and the pull in her chest tugs her towards where she is meant to be. _Honey brown, with flecks of gold._

“Basira!” Georgie calls, “I think Daisy knows the way!”

Sure enough, Daisy is nudging the pair gently forward, away from the corpse of the Hunter. Towards the North. 

There is almost a smile on her face when Basira steps up beside her, and leans into her thick fur and solid body.

“You came back.” She says quietly. 

Daisy huffs into the top of Basira’s head. _I came home._

It’s not perfect. They’re still walking through the end of the world. Daisy isn’t quite Daisy, tooth and claw and fur instead of scars and cropped hair and clever fingers. Basira can’t get her back, not alone. The Archivist’s compulsion, perhaps; he dragged the statement out of the circus’s courier. Maybe that would be enough to pull Daisy back to Daisy. Basira doesn’t even know anymore whether that was her idea or one whispered to her. She doesn’t know if there is a difference anymore. She doesn’t know if it even matters. If it gets Daisy back, if it gets them to Scotland safe, if it defeats Jonah Magnus, then, well, Basia is ready to jump into that void. 

It’s not perfect. But she has Daisy, _she has Daisy back_ , and that is all she ever wants, ever needs, because if she is going to fall, she wants Daisy there to catch her. It’s not perfect, because the two of them have never been perfect, and won’t ever will be, and Basira wouldn’t want it any other way. Daisy is at her side, where she belongs, and Mel and Eli and Georgie are close enough to be protected, to be safe. 

For now, Basira is mostly Basira, and Daisy is mostly Daisy, and that is enough. 


End file.
